A Case of Mistaken Identity
by Shi-Toyu
Summary: Gregory Lestrade was actually having a pretty good day...until he got stuck in an elevator with none other than Mycroft Holmes and Anderson...Why did the universe have to hate him so much?


A Case of Mistaken Identity

"I appreciate your willingness to keep me informed, Inspector."

Lestrade shrugged nonchalantly as he picked his empty travel mug up off the desk. He could get a refill from the Yard's break room, but the coffee there was atrocious. He'd rather spend the few bucks it took to get the good stuff from the coffee shop across the street.

"No worries, Mycroft. I have to pay for the kids' college tuitions somehow. Here, I'll walk you out."

Mycroft Holmes smiled blandly, clearly finding no amusement in Lestrade's joke. As they walked through New Scotland Yard to the lifts, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of home life could have spawned children like the Holmes brothers.

The two stood in silence, waiting for the lift to arrive. It was often like that with the elder Holmes if there wasn't a point to the conversation. He wasn't one for idle chitchat. Lestrade valued his silence in the face of Sherlock's nearly constant monologue. He sometimes had to wonder at how different the two brothers were while still being so similar.

The lift arrived and they boarded in silence. They were lucky enough to catch an empty one, which was unusual for any time of day at the Yard. Pushing the button for the first floor, Lestrade pondered if Mycroft's seemingly endless power had anything to do with the empty lift. The doors were just sliding shut when an arm shot between them, halting their movement and causing them to slide back open.

Lestrade nearly groaned out loud when Anderson stepped on, wearing a scowl that clearly meant he was about to start complaining. Then again, that was just about any time. The Detective Inspector shot a glance at Mycroft, a bad feeling welling up in the pit of his stomach. Completely ignoring the other man in the lift, Anderson focused all his attention on his direct superior.

"I'm filing an official complaint! I mean it this time!"

Lestrade groaned. Much to his dismay, he knew exactly want this was about.

"Anderson, this really isn't the time."

The older man tried to infuse his voice with as much seriousness as possible, but the hint still flew right over his subordinate's head.

"No! I refuse to be treated like this! He can't just order us around like that! I work for the Yard, not bloody Sherlock Holmes!"

Lestrade saw Mycroft's brows go up, but he refused to let this conversation escalate. He held a hand up placatingly.

"I know. That's why I have to approve of anything he tells you to do. Sherlock is just a consultant, but he does know what he's talking about. Even you have to give him that at this point."

The forensic specialist snorted and took on the air of one who'd been horribly insulted.

"That _freak_ uses nothing but tricks! I don't know how he keeps doing it, but I will figure it out and when I do…"

"You'll what?"

Lestrade shivered at Mycroft's icy tone, but it didn't even seem to register with Anderson. The look his subordinate sent the government official showed exactly how little he thought of the other man.

"And who the Hell are you?"

As he clasped his brolly lightly in front of him, Mycroft's smile managed to be both pleasant and predatory.

"An interested party, you could say."

Anderson snorted.

"Interested in the freak? Please tell me you plan to arrest him for something."

Lestrade contemplated just jabbing the button for the next floor just to get away from the conversation. When had the Yard's lift become so slow? Even if he couldn't see the frown creasing Mycroft's face, he would have been able to hear it in his voice.

"Not quite."

Anderson snorted.

"Oh, I see. You're one of his lackeys, then? You're too fat to be one of his homeless filth. What is it, blackmail?"

Forget getting off on the next available floor, Lestrade just wanted to die. Anderson was good at his job, he really was, if a bit over-enthusiastic. It was such a shame he was probably going to be carted off to some secret government base in the dead of night. Lestrade lifted his empty mug to his lips just for an excuse not to _say_ anything.

Mycroft's expression betrayed nothing as he gave the forensic specialist a bland stare. A silence stretched for a couple beats before he finally spoke again. The awkwardness of the situation didn't seem to faze Anderson in the slightest.

"His brother, actually."

That seemed to surprise Anderson at least. Both of his eyebrows rose, crinkling his forehead.

"The freak has a brother? Do you do party tricks at crime scenes too?"

He couldn't have sounded more condescending if he tried. Lestrade's gaze fixed on the numbers above the lift's doors, praying for them to move faster. Only two more floors before he could make his escape and abandon his subordinate to a slow, painful death.

"I occupy a minor position in the British government, serving Her Majesty however she needs me."

Mycroft's tone was pleasant and, when Lestrade snuck a glance in his direction, his small smile was, too. It sent a shiver down the Detective Inspector's spine. The elder Holmes wasn't quite done speaking yet, though, and the gleam in his eye promised swift retribution.

"You are Mr. Anderson, correct? You specialize in forensics and have worked a number of cases with my brother."

"He told you about me? Whatever that prat said is completely untrue!"

Mycroft chuckled lightly, putting off Anderson's sudden anger.

"Oh, no. My brother never speaks to me if he can help it. I make it a priority to know what is going on in his life, though…" He slid a look at Lestrade then. "Detective Inspector, that mug has been empty since before we left your office, I think you can safely stop trying to drink from it now."

Lestrade jerked the cup down, holding it in front of his chest like a shield. It was the only thing coming between him and the horribly awkward conversation before him.

"Right. Yes…Thanks."

Mycroft look decidedly unimpressed as he turned back to his previous conversation.

"Now, Mr. Anderson, I understand you have some complaints about the way my brother does things. Let me assure you that your foolish attempts at bringing higher authorities down upon my brother's head for what has clearly been slights to you personally will be met with…a certain resistance. You may even find that certain complaints about _you_ will rise to the attention of your superiors. You're at a very critical stage in your career. It would be such a shame for all your hard work to go up in smoke, wouldn't it?"

Finally, _finally_, the lift dinged and the doors slid open to reveal the lobby of New Scotland Yard. Lestrade all but sprinted through them and across the lobby, leaving Mycroft Holmes to stride calmly after him and Anderson, stunned beyond words, to stand in the lift until the door closed on him once more.

The usual barista greeted Lestrade behind the counter of the coffee shop. She was pretty enough, working her way through college for a degree in engineering. They spoke occasionally, but didn't really know each other too well. Lestrade had never been so pleased to see her in his life.

"Regular coffee, light cream, no sugar?"

The asking was more a formality than anything else. She knew exactly what Greg always got.

"Yeah, Abby. That'd be great…unless you've got something with liquor behind the counter. You would not believe the day I've had."


End file.
